


The Mad Ones

by misspronounced



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Denial, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspronounced/pseuds/misspronounced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was always easier for Arthur and Eames to deny and pretend that their relationship didn't extend further from just sleeping together during jobs. It was obvious to everyone else that they've always meant more to each other than that. It just takes them the longest to catch up, with a little help from Jack Kerouac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mad Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This story ended up a lot longer than I planned, but I had so much fun writing it! The events happen in chronological order, but not necessarily one right after the other. I was imagining some time between them. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

_Romantic love lasts a year, then attachment love sets in._

*

“What if I forge the mark’s mother?” Eames wonders out loud. He and Yusuf are sitting outside at a secluded and quiet cafe in Brussels - where their current job has taken them. 

Yusuf sets down his jasmine tea and considers the strategy. “Hmm, going for the emotional kryptonite? Very sly and devious of you.” 

“It’s what I do best.”

“What is his relationship with his mum like?” Yusuf asks. 

“Don’t know, but I have the utmost confidence that Arthur can figure that out.” 

“So Arthur is running point on this job? It’s the first I’ve heard.” 

Eames adjusts his jacket, keeping casual, “I rang him a few days ago.” 

Yusuf makes an inquisitive noise. “Did you know that Ariadne asked him on the job about a fortnight ago and said he was busy.” 

“I didn’t know about that, mate. He owes me one, thought it would be a good time to cash in that favor.” 

“That’s curious,” Yusuf accuses. 

“What’s that?

“Oh I’m just thinking out loud . . . the Arthur I know doesn’t do favors, and he would never put himself in someone else’s debt.” 

Eames is getting more irritated by this conversation and throws his defences up, “What are you on about?” 

“I don’t mean this in a bad way, mate. Not at all. But I know this isn’t about giving a favor back, it’s because Arthur cares for you, and you him.” 

“Of course I care about him, he’s a good mate, like you are.” 

Yusuf puts his arms on the table and leans towards Eames, talking in a hushed voice, “There’s more there, people can see it and there’s speculation. Eames, mate, I’m not here to chastise you, but you know as well as anyone that love is probably your worst enemy in this career.” 

Eames just scoffs at Yusuf, “You know me more than most, do you think I’m in love?” 

Yusuf puts his hands up, “Don’t ask me, you’re the one who should know”. 

“Love is an inconvenience. I simply don’t have time for it.” 

Yusuf thoughtfully nods. 

*

The bar is loud and hot and crowded. Bars and clubs are unique in their ability to weave anonymity and intimacy as strangers relinquish their inhibitions and trust each other immensely. Eames was well versed in that area, he could make people fall to his whim in ten minutes flat. But, like many things he grew bored of it. 

He sighs in relief at the realization that he's amongst his team and colleagues, so he can just sit back and shoot the shit with them and not have to play a facade of himself. 

Tucked in a booth in the corner of the bar sits Ariadne, Yusuf, Arthur, Eames, and Robert. (Robert Fischer - who found out about their inception and instead of putting a price on each of their heads, became very interested in dream sharing, learning quickly and became a very reliable extractor. His extractions were clean and efficient - he is a successful businessman afterall.) 

While Arthur and Robert regaled their marvels of Chicago, Eames discreetly gestures for another bourbon that Arthur's drinking. No one seemed to notice that Eames stopped drinking about an hour ago. 

“The Sears tower is what got me into architecture. What a monumental achievement,” Arthur sighs, as if he is talking about a lover. Eames laughs his, only would Arthur be in love with a building. His arm is across the back of the booth, which Arthur must have known, because he lets his head rest in the crook of Eames’ elbow and turns to lazily look at Eames. “It’s amazing.” 

“Oh I know how you feel about the Sears Tower, darling,” Eames says in amusement, rubbing Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Are you jealous now, Eames?” Robert jokes. 

Eames clutches his chest melodramatically, “I’ve already accepted that Arthur’s heart has been stolen by a giant hunk of glass and metal.”

“Mhmm,” Arthur hums, his eyes are heavy and distant. 

Yusuf pipes in, wondering how Eames is the most coherent. “Mate, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m pretty much sober now.” 

“What?!” Ariadne asks, a little too loud. 

“Well tonight I’m being the sober one so Arthur can get pissed.” Eames looks down at Arthur who looks like he’s half asleep against Eames’ shoulder. 

“‘m not pissed, I’m drunk,” Arthur slurs. 

“Pissed means drunk, love.” He is sure that Arthur means to be nodding and not just rubbing his cheek against Eames’ jacket. 

“Anyway, drunk Arthur is way more entertaining to me when I’m sober.” The other three laugh at that, all in agreement. 

“E, can I have another drink pleeease?” Arthur is sitting up now on his own accord with his chin pointed up triumphantly. 

“As long as you promise not to retch later.” 

“I pinky promise,” Arthur says holding his pinky out to Eames. It just makes Eames raise his eyebrows in amusement and look at Ariadne to assure he’s not the only one witnessing this. She’s smiling and just shrugs. So Eames hooks their pinkies together and shakes their hands. 

They stay at the bar for two more hours laughing, drinking, and enjoying the company. They exit the bar and wait for cabs to take them their separate ways. Arthur stands against Eames’ side and Eames has his hand between Arthur’s shoulder blades - to keep him stable more than anything. 

Ariadne and Yusuf take the first cab that comes up because they are staying at hotels on the same street, and they won’t let her go alone, which she scoffs at but can’t hide her fond smile. As Robert, Arthur, and Eames stand in the cold, Arthur consumed by his phone, Robert leans close to Eames and asks in a low voice, “So, are you and (he nods to Arthur) together?” 

“We’re always together, mate,” Eames replies cryptically. 

“No, I mean as in - “ He gets interrupted by Eames’ loud whistle to call over a cab. 

“Take this one, we’ll wait,” Eames says as he pats Robert hard on the shoulder, giving him a tight smile that says never to ask about him and Arthur again. Robert gets it. 

“See you soon, yeah?” 

“Of course, I’ll always be around. Cheers.” Robert’s cab fades into the bokeh lights of the damp street. 

After a minute standing in silence, Arthur says, still distracted by his phone, “What did Robert say?” 

“Oh nothing, he’s just being nosy.” 

“As per usual,” Arthur huffs out a laugh. Eames hums in agreement. 

A cab pulls up at Eames’ wave and he opens the door for Arthur, “Ride’s here, A”. Arthur only moves when Eames pushes him towards the cab. 

Eames likes the unknownness of whatever he and Arthur have. Eames is a surprisingly private person, he doesn’t share what he doesn’t have to. No has to know they go to the same hotel. No one has to know they go to the same room. 

*

They are running a trial run in a hotel suite, Arthur opting out to make sure everything goes smoothly and make sure the kick works. 

All goes well until Eames jerks awake violently half way through. He’s gasping and blinking rapidly, “Fuck,” he says quietly.

He looks around the room frantically and disoriented, “A? A! Where are-,” but Arthur is there at his side before he could finish the sentence. After he carefully takes the needle out of Eames’ arm, he sits beside him and places a hand firm on Eames’ arm, looking intently at his face. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Here, here’s your totem. You’re safe,” Arthur reassures. They don’t when it came about - but sometimes they held onto each other’s totems and as Arthur pressed to poker chip into Eames’ palm, he closed his fist around it and squeezed tight. 

Arthur waits for Eames to calm down before speaking again, “E, tell me what happened.” Eames looks around, only he and Arthur are awake. The others with roughly eight minutes to go. 

Eames covers his face with his free hand, “The projections - they were bloody brutal. And strong. They literally ripped me limb from limb. I doubt the others will make it the whole time.” He sighs in relief as he looks at his intact body. 

“I’ll think of something,” Arthur says, voice hard and on edge. 

“We will just have to watch our backs more carefully. Too bad we haven’t figured out invisibility yet.” 

“No. It’s too dangerous, I can’t let you- I can’t let us take that risk.” Eames watches as Arthur looks down, hand still on Eames’ bicep, brows drawn together in frustration and worry. 

It’s Eames’ turn to comfort Arthur - he takes a hold of Arthur’s chin, meeting his eyes, “We’ll figure out something else.” Arthur sighs and closes his eyes. 

*

Arthur hears a knock at his hotel room door - much louder than he expected. He opens the door to Eames whose worried expression fall to very irritated once he sees Arthur intact. In response Arthur raises his eyebrows and quietly moves out of the way. 

“I expected you to at least be minorly maimed. But here you are disappointingly unharmed and sober.” 

“Thanks,” Arthur says slowly, trying to assess how to deal with Eames’ unexpected mood. 

“Now that you have interrupted my evening and I don’t think I can go back to my date, to what do I owe this inane pleasure?” 

“I had an idea for the job…” only then does Arthur register the word ‘date’. “Wait, you were on a date? With a person?” 

“Yes. I was. A person, believe it or not. A wealthy person in fact.” Eames stands in his trademark pose with his hands on his belt and hip cocked to one side. 

“But, you are wealthy,” Arthur states.

“He was _very_ wealthy. I have expensive tastes, Arthur.”

“I can tell by your wardrobe,” the jab earns him a glare and pursed lips. 

“He is a lawyer. So what he does is illegal too. We were bonding over that when you so rudely pulled me here.” 

“I am truly sorry. I had no idea you were out on a date,” Arthur manages to sound equally genuine and sarcastic at the same time. “Do you want to hear my idea?” 

Eames’ face goes flat, expressionless and ultimately bored, “It can wait.” He turns to leave. 

“E,” is all Arthur has to say to make Eames’ shoulders slump as he looks up and sighs, stopping just before the door. He walks back to Arthur, grasping his arms and leans their foreheads together, breathing hard through his nose.

“I do have an idea, but I also just wanted to see you,” Arthur confesses. 

It's moments like this when Arthur is raw and honest that make Eames’ heart ache and pump a little harder. It's getting harder to deny that only Arthur does that to him. 

“A, we agreed that we wouldn’t get this involved..” Eames warns. 

Arthur sticks two fingers of each hand into the belt loops of Eames’ trousers and pulls him forward so they are flush. As he slides his hands up Eames’ chest and rests them there he moves his head so their temples are pressed together - his mouth right over Eames’ ear. “We’re not. But can we, just for tonight? Can we pretend tonight? Then you can go and have grand romances with all the lawyers starting tomorrow.” 

The sex is the best they’ve both ever had. But, it's too passionate, too slow and tender, they hold gazes for too long for it to be pretend. Eames starts to figure out that no lawyers can give him what Arthur can.

*

The next morning the sun streams in through the curtains and warms Eames in stripes. He turns over from his side of the bed and sees Arthur turned away from him, shoulder rising and falling steadily with sleep. (They would fall asleep entangled but always woke up apart because Eames tended sprawl and Arthur tended to fetal). 

Eames runs a hand up Arthur’s exposed back, just feeling the warm skin and taking advantage that he can touch Arthur like this. When Arthur stirs and yawns, Eames flattens his hand on Arthur’s back to make him stay put. Before he can protest Eames drapes an arm around his waist and presses himself against his back. 

“Morning, A,” Eames greets. 

“G’morning.” 

“How are you always so warm?” Eames squeezes a little tighter to punctuate his question. 

“It’s to help warm my cold heart,” Arthur replies sleepily. 

“Hmm well if this is you with a cold heart, I hope it never warms up.” 

Eames brushes a kiss on the shell of Arthur’s ear and they fall asleep again for another half hour, this time they stay spooning. 

They wake up and get dressed and ready in easy silence. They have a system of getting to the job separately; one of them goes straight there and the other gets coffee and something quick for breakfast. It's not all that foolproof but then again, they're not hiding government secrets. 

*

Arthur likes to read during their down times, which don’t happen often, so he takes advantage when he can. The team takes breaks for lunch during their 12 hour plus days of prep for whatever job they're on. Arthur always gets something to go and brings it back, while he eats he always has a book in his hand. Eames caught on to this little tradition fairly quickly and leaves Arthur alone that time to have lunch with Ariadne or Robert or whoever was free. 

Arthur’s taste in literature always surprised Eames, everything from Edgar Allen Poe to Vonnegut. That day, while he was gone getting his lunch, Eames took the opportunity to peek at the book Arthur was currently reading. On the Road by Jack Kerouac, how hipster of you, A, Eames thought. It was an old and worn version with yellowed pages and a grainy black and white picture of two men of the front. There's a playing card marking where Arthur left off, but some pages are dogeared. Eames flips to the first bent page and reads the passage that's bracketed. 

_“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones that are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...”_

Eames reads the passage three times then notices that there's an ‘E’ written next to the passage. As if Arthur's saying that that's perfect description of Eames. 

He decides to ask Arthur to borrow the book when he's done, suddenly craving more of those words. 

*

“How can you be so fucking careless?” Arthur waits until he and Eames are in the privacy of their shared suite to start his tirade. 

“It’s not carelessness, it’s improvisation,” Eames says pointedly not looking at Arthur as he takes off his jacket and puts his wallet on the desk. 

Arthur makes himself busy by yanking up his sleeves to his elbows and sitting on the edge of a chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You almost compromised the mission _and_ you almost fell into limbo.” A calm and collected Arthur is much more terrifying than a shouting Arthur. 

Eames leans back casually on the desk and crosses his arms. “But if you haven’t noticed, darling, that the job was a success and I’m here. No harm done,” Eames placates with a wave of his hand. Arthur notices the condescension that dripped from the term of endearment. 

“One day it’s going to bite you in the ass, and you’ll be fucked because I can’t save you down there,” Arthur sounds defeated, but overall just tired. 

“I don’t need saving, I have survived many years in this business. I do admit it was a close call, but…” Eames walks across to Arthur and stands over him making him sit fully back in the chair as he holds onto the armrests. “It would’ve been fucking nice to know what the security would be like. How do you not know to tell me that, when I’m going to be in the thick of it?” 

Arthur’s eyes flash with anger as he shoves Eames away from the chair with a hand firm on his chest and stands up. “Usually it doesn’t affect your forges, so forgive me for not thinking of it. You were in the wrong fucking place anyway! If you listened to me and stuck with the plan, you wouldn’t have had a problem!” Shouting Arthur was back in full force. 

“I would’ve been in a crowd of projections, you don’t think that would’ve been a tad dangerous?”

“You were forging! They wouldn’t have been the wiser. That’s part of being a fucking forger!” 

Still standing face to face, Arthur has his balled up fist against Eames’ chest, keeping him at a distance. 

“I cannot believe I need to tell you of all people this. Every dream is different. You cannot predict what is going to happen based on previous dreams. They are unpredictable. You cannot make little compartments for everything and use them as reference. Dreams are not cut and dry, sometimes you are running blind. I was using my intuition, which is what saved me.” 

“You can’t always rely on intuition,” Arthur lamely shoots back. 

Eames leans back on his heels away from Arthur and walks backwards towards the balcony. “You’re right. Whenever my intuition is wrong, it’s always about you.” As he opens the french doors to the balcony and adds over his shoulder, “Because you are full of fucking surprises”. 

Arthur goes to the bathroom to calm down, washing the gel from his hair, letting it fall where it may as Eames leans on the railing outside blowing smoke into the sky, clouding the stars for a few seconds at a time. 

After a few minutes, Arthur goes to the balcony and leans against the doorframe looking at Eames’ back. The tension thick, forming an invisible barrier between them, it wasn’t unusual, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. 

“Why do you still work with me?” Arthur asks, genuinely curious. 

Eames looks over his shoulder at Arthur then back over the railing. “Because, you are the best point man out there and we make a good team. Don’t be daft, Arthur.” 

“I know we make a good team, that’s not why I’m asking. I make you angry. I make you make mistakes that are almost detrimental.” Arthur sounds guarded, almost self-conscious. 

Eames flicks his finished cigarette onto the street below and goes to the small table and chair to sit, lighting a fresh cigarette. He squints up at Arthur. “You just figured that out?” 

“Why,” Arthur demands, he's lost all patience half an hour ago. 

“Because I must be a fucking masochist.” The sentence stings Arthur more than he cares to admit. He doesn’t know what to say or how to interpret that, he’ll dwell on it later. He stands there for a few moments just watching as Eames takes drag after drag of his cigarette. Even when angry, he looks relaxed. Arthur has a theory that Eames could fit in anywhere and be at ease; Arthur envies him the most for that, because he's always on guard, a little on edge.

Arthur closes the space between them and presses his palm to Eames’ shoulder, firm, hoping that his hand can convey more because words were failing him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for doing that to you today,” he says even though it wasn’t completely accurate - Arthur didn’t do anything to Eames, it was just a misunderstanding. Arthur clears his throat, all of sudden feeling awkward because Eames’ doesn’t react, not even to his touch. He could’ve flinched at the touch, but that would’ve been too melodramatic, too theatrical. “Just. I’m sorry,” Arthur says a final time letting his hand slip off Eames’ shoulder knowing Eames is right and there wasn’t anything he could do. 

Arthur realizes Eames won’t say anything more, just stay silent for the rest of the night - that’s their routine. They’re good for a long time until something happened on a job and they will fight and swear not to work together again, knowing they would break that promise the very next job. Then the uncomfortable silence would end in the morning. They maintained this, whatever it is between them because it’s convenient and it’s nice to have someone there, being a great lay is an added bonus. It’s an unspoken rule that they don’t seek each other out outside of jobs, that made it easy. 

Usually Eames never lets Arthur have the last word, he prides himself that he can beat Arthur at his own game - when it comes to arguing, Arthur is second to none. But this time it feels wrong, it doesn’t feel as though they will just forget in the morning, kiss and make up, and be done with it. And Eames didn’t like the wounded tone in Arthur’s voice more than he wants to be right in this situation, he feels an overwhelming need to make it right again. 

“A,” Eames rasps before Arthur goes back inside, all the anger gone from his voice. He sits his cigarette in the ashtray on the table and turns his attention to Arthur. “Come here.” He holds out his arm in an invitation. 

Arthur obliges and when he gets within reach, Eames tugs on his arm and pulls him to sit on his lap. He encircles his arms around Arthur’s waist and laces his fingers together to rest on Arthur’s hip. Arthur’s still looking down and not meeting Eames’ eyes, though he can feel the gaze on his face. He turns and meets Eames’ eyes, he’s never been afraid or embarrassed around Eames. They’ve always been on equal ground, they push and pull and don’t have a limit because they have an inherent understanding between them. 

“I don’t blame you. I never have,” Eames admits. 

“I know. I never blame you either,” Arthur agrees. 

“I’m just frustrated with my shortcomings, I often feel I can’t keep up with you. I’m constantly impressed by how bloody brilliant you are.” Arthur shakes his head smiles. 

“I’m the one who can’t keep up with you,” Arthur shoots back and slides an arm around Eames’ shoulders and draws circles with his finger. 

“Are we now arguing about who’s better? You’re impossible.” 

“It keeps things interesting, right?” 

“That it does, darling.” Eames leans forward to place a chaste kiss to Arthur’s lips and leans back again. 

“E,” Arthur starts, he moves his hand to stroke his thumb along Eames’ jaw. “I find it so unfair what you do to me. People get under my skin all the time, but you. You got under there and stayed. I can’t seem to shake you.” 

“And you have me wrapped around your little finger.” A moment of thoughtful silence is in the space between them. “This sounds like we are getting more involved than we planned.” 

“Isn’t this just pretend?” Arthur asks still holding onto that excuse like it means anything. 

Eames nods once and moves one arm under Arthur’s knees scooping him up bridal style. 

“Eames! What are -” Arthur squawks.

“Well I’m probably never going to carry someone over a threshold in the proper manner, so why not you?” Eames laughs as he carries Arthur all the way to the bed and plops him down. 

“Well that embarrassing,” Arthur says defiantly. Eames climbs over Arthur to hover over him on his hands and knees. 

“I need you to be naked in about ten seconds.”

“Can be done, but I need your mouth right now,” Arthur replies as he pulls Eames to him. He is more than happy to oblige Arthur. They easily fall back into a routine that is more comfortable. 

*

Eames returns Arthur’s On the Road and made sure to obviously mark the page of the passage where the E is written next to. He bracketed the passage again and wrote an A just under the E. 

Even if Eames denies that that passage described him, it’s how Eames sees Arthur; so full of passion and never hesitant of anything. 

It is Arthur who’s the fabulous roman candles, not Eames, at least that’s what he’s sure of. 

*

The team were out to dinner all together to celebrate another successful job. As Arthur went to wash up in the bathroom the waitress came to take their drink orders. 

“Oh man, Arthur didn’t say what he wants,” Ariadne says after the last person gave their drink order. 

Without missing a beat, Eames tells the waitress, “He’ll have a water, no ice, with a lemon.” 

Ariadne looks a little surprised how easily Eames said it. “How’d you know that?” 

“That what he always gets,” Eames says nonchalantly. 

Arthur doesn’t even think to thank Eames when their drinks come. Ariadne draws the conclusion that Eames is used to ordering for Arthur.  
As a matter of fact Eames never stopped to think just how many little things he knows about Arthur; things that someone would only know when they spend a lot of time with a person. 

Things like how Eames knows how Arthur likes his meat cooked rare. That he is a huge fan of James Dean and has a fantasy of owning the Porsche he drove. That he practically cannot control himself around oreos, he will scarf them down like nothing. 

Also how he prefers the left side of the bed, how far his blush runs down his body, and in the mornings the last thing he does is brush his teeth when gets ready.. 

Eames just excuses all this useless knowledge he has about Arthur because that’s what he does for a living: observe people. But if someone were to ask what Ariadne’s last name is, Yusuf’s drink of choice is, or the name of the company Robert owns, he would be at a loss. 

*

They are standing at the airport; everyone going their separate ways to eventually come back together again. 

Arthur and Eames stand looking at the departure board, aimlessly looking at which destinations are available. 

“Where are you off too?” Eames causally asks. 

“Back to the States. New York probably, or maybe Seattle, I have a vacation townhouse there.” Arthur answers. 

“Exotic.” Eames smiles to himself, of course Arthur would vacation in Seattle of all places; his favorite color is grey after all. 

“Very. You?” 

“Back to Mombasa for me. But I should visit my mum in Cambridge,” Eames says. 

“You should hurry then,” Arthur nodding to the departure board, the flight to London leaves in an hour. 

“Yeah. I should get on then,” Eames agrees but doesn’t make a move to leave, instead he turns to Arthur. 

“There’s a job next month in Hong Kong, sounds like they could use a forger,” Arthur says when he meets Eames’ eyes. 

“Did they say they needed one?” 

“Not in so many words. But from what I can tell from they want me to do, I could use a forger,” Arthur’s smile is sly, almost private. 

“Send me the details. I’ll see you soon then, yeah?” Eames reaches out and grasps Arthur’s arm. 

Arthur nods, “safe travels, E. Visit your mom, tell her I say hi.” 

“Will do, she misses you. See you around, A,” Eames slides his hand down to briefly squeeze Arthur’s hand then turns and gets lost in the crowd. 

If Arthur’s right hand feels warmer than his left the whole way home, it has nothing to do with Eames. 

*

Arthur spends a week in New York before he can’t stand it anymore. The constant hustle and drone of the city reminding him too much of the energy and liveliness of a certain accented colleague. 

Though Seattle is better - Arthur’s townhouse is on the outskirts, away from the heart of the city - the steady rain seems to echo Arthur’s thoughts back to him. Thoughts he can’t shake, no matter how many times he tells himself that what he and Eames had (have?) is not real. Just pretend. That was safer. But better? Arthur isn’t so sure anymore. 

Another week in, late at night, the rain stronger than usual, Arthur’s phone pings with a text message. 

_E:  
Knock knock ___

Arthur stares at the screen for a few seconds before realizing that the text is literal. He goes to the door and sure enough, Eames is standing there under an umbrella wearing a warm smile. He doesn’t let Eames in right away, still taken by surprise he’s standing on his doorstep. He looks at the umbrella and then back to Eames. “How resourceful of you,” Arthur says. 

“Got it at the airport. Seattle is the London of the states. Of course I’m coming prepared,” retorts, easy as ever. 

Arthur lets Eames inside and takes the umbrella and sets it by the door. They stand in the foyer, at a loss for words for once. 

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, but…” Arthur lets the question trail off trusting Eames knows what he means. 

“Well I was in the neighborhood…” Eames smiles and shrugs. 

“E…” Arthur cuts him off, wanting a real explanation. 

“Mombasa started feeling a bit lonesome and they’re weren’t many lawyers around,” Eames answers. “And I wanted to see you," Eames finishes, sounding sure of himself. 

A smile spreads on Arthur’s lips as he steps in Eames’ space and kisses him soundly. They stand there content with kissing languidly and holding onto each other in the chilly room. 

They separate and Arthur says, “Well welcome to my humble abode.” 

The house isn’t huge, but it’s spacious with large windows making up most of the east and west walls. No one would buy this house unless they enjoyed watching the rain. And judging by the lack of curtains on the windows, Arthur is a fan of the landscape and natural lighting. 

“I like it, very - you,” Eames says as he takes a minute to notice the details, smiling because it just makes sense that Arthur’s decorations are clean and modern and minimalistic. 

“Um, should we?” Arthur tentatively asks, not sure where to go from here because this is unfamiliar territory. It’s funny to think that their ‘arrangement’ has always been strictly for work and wouldn’t bleed into their lives outside. But here they are. 

“Yeah, yeah, course. Let me get my bag, yeah? I left it in my rental,” Eames says, heading towards the door and grabbing the umbrella. He comes back with a medium sized suitcase and leaves it forgotten by the door and goes straight back to Arthur. 

Arthur takes his hand and leads them upstairs to the loft - his bedroom. 

Eames doesn’t match Arthur’s pace though. As Arthur grabs and struggles with the buttons of Eames’ shirt, Eames keeps his hands on Arthur’s cheeks and kisses him slow and deep, not acknowledging his advances. 

“E,” Arthur whines, trying to get Eames’ shirt off that he’s been working at for the past five minutes. 

“A,” rasps Eames, looking at him with glazed eyes, not so much with heady lust, but something else; it makes Arthur stop in his tracks. 

“What? What is it?" Arthur’s voice isn’t impatient; he pauses his hands on Eames’ chest inside his shirt, waiting for him to answer. 

Eames shakes his head and breaks his gaze with Arthur to look down, “Nothing, I’m being daft.”

Arthur trails his hands down to hold Eames’ wrists and caress his pulse. “I feel like something is different here. Like something shifted. Please tell me you feel it too.” 

Eames swallows and looks up, knowing his eyes are betraying him. He nods in agreement. 

“I’ve been wanting to say something pretty daft myself,” Arthur confesses. “How about we say what we want at the same time?” 

“This could go very badly, Arthur,” Eames speculates, now looking worried. 

“You don’t have to keep anything from me, E. I hope you already knew that. Whatever it is.” 

“I know. Same to you. Alright. Shall we?” Eames asks, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders then meeting Arthur’s eyes. 

“On three, okay? One . . . two . . . three.”

“I love you,” they say together. They immediately fall into fits of laughter, grabbing onto each other and catching their breath, relief rushing over both of them. 

They sit and hold each other’s faces and lean their foreheads together. “I am ridiculously, madly, completely in love with you, Arthur,” Eames says with newfound conviction. 

“I am ridiculously, madly, completely in love with you too, Eames,” Arthur repeats, punctuating his confession with a kiss. 

Eames pulls back to look at Arthur’s entire face, “This is isn’t pretend is it?”

“I was never pretending, E.” 

“I wasn’t either.” 

“God, we’re idiots,” Arthur chuckles. 

“Better late than never?” Eames suggests and laughs as Arthur rolls his eyes. 

They fall back into their natural rhythm, but it feels new and exciting and free without the veil and facade making them believe they were both keeping a dark secret. 

*

Their most recent job reunites them with their ever-so-faithful team of Ariadne, Robert, and Yusuf. As tradition they go to a bar on the night they wrap the job. 

They get a table in middle of the bar forcing them to talk loudly to hear each other, but that’s not a problem with the steady flow of alcohol.

Arthur and Eames are at the bar waiting for the next round of drinks, but they don’t seem too bothered with getting the bartender’s attention. Their heads tilted towards each and every now and then Eames leans in to speak into Arthur’s ear and Arthur would duck his head and laugh making his shoulders shake. When there’s a lull in their conversation Eames leans in close and traces Arthur’s ear with the tip of his nose making Arthur turn and press a sloppy kiss to the corner of Eames’ mouth. 

All the while Ariadne is observing their interaction, noticing how starkly different it is - unguarded, finally not trying their best to hide what everyone was already aware of. She leans towards Robert and Yusuf, “It’s about time they realized they’re in love.” 

“Seriously, they’ve been hiding it, badly, I should add, for so long that I started to believe it was some elaborate prank,” Yusuf says.

“I think they were the last ones to find out,” Robert adds. 

“They are the two of the smartest men I know, yet they both have the thickest skulls,” Ariadne laughs. 

The night goes on into the early hours of the morning, never a dull a moment, never a silence, and Eames never letting his hand off it’s place on Arthur’s waist. 

*

The townhouse in Seattle is now just as much Eames’ as it is Arthur’s, filling the once empty spaces with his things and personal touches. 

The subtle differences are what makes Arthur smile the most. Now the kitchen has one cabinet just for tea - Eames’ favorites and a few acquired over the years. Eames’ clothes sometimes getting mixed in with his and even though Arthur’s very particular about his closet, he doesn’t mind at all. Eames’ airport umbrella by the door - now beaten and worn from constant use. 

There are always books lying around, usually three or four at time on the coffee table or nightstand. But one is always out, never put back; the pages wavy and torn from repeated use: On the Road. Each time Arthur or Eames reads it again, they bracket another quote or phrase they like and haven’t noticed before. Sometimes writing each other’s initials by a quote, like little notes to each other. 

One quote stood out amongst the rest; it’s highlighted and bracketed several times, with the page deeply dog eared: 

_“We agreed to love each other madly.”_


End file.
